There Is No Line
by Co-Quill-Eon
Summary: "Loyalty. Supposedly, not a Slytherin quality, but the night Greyback drags Potter into his dining room Draco finds out that he has it in spades" Draco figures it out way before Harry does. *Draco POV*


Draco is relieved when Potter's antics lands his father in Azkaban.

No one knows this, of course, as he makes sure that he makes enough noise about it. Fixing a scowl on one's face and swearing to exact a revenge most foul is enough to convince those that matter, apparently.

What he actually wants to do is pull Potter aside and thank him, but the mere thought is so absurd that it forces a grim smile to his lips. But it's his own fault, isn't it – he allowed the ignorance of his eleven year old self stick to him for far too long and at fourteen it had begun to feel as if he'd been under the Imperious. The words, the slurs, fell from his lips with no hesitation, but it wasn't him speaking. His mouth moved but it was his father's words, thoughts.

When Lucius goes away Draco feels free enough for the first time since he's realized that he can think for himself, but instead of using it to his advantage, instead of beginning the process of _saving_ himself, he joins Unbridge's brigade and ignores the feeling of sinking deeper and deeper into this mess he hasn't necessarily created, but continued.

His body still moves, his mouth still opens, Lucius still speaks, and Draco is still drowning.

: : :

_Who _is controlling his body? _WHO? _he is frantically questioning as a faucet bursts next to his head, and water flies into his face. _Whowhowho, _and he catches sight of Potter and his hand raises, and one of the worst curses is barreling past his lips. _Nonononononono, _but it's fine now because Potter has ripped him open, and has ended it.

_It's all over now, _and he's free, and he gets to see Potter's eyes filled to the brim with panic and concern. He can be honest now, now that his life blood is mingling with the dirty, dingy puddle of water beneath him. He can admit that seeing Potter look at him with anything else than malice and suspicion is something that he's wanted for so long, but his pride made him indicate otherwise.

_Pride is pulling the strings. Pride was controlling me, but Pride is a person and he's dying too._

Then a song floats in and around him, and the pain is fading, and he's being lifted _up_, not being pulled down as he expected, and it's done.

When Draco wakes up, alone and aching, in the hospital wing his heart plummets, and the burning tears escape tight eyelids, and he's drowning again.

: : :

Humans are creatures of habit and Draco is a prime example of this as he's shouting into the still air at a defenseless Dumbledore. He proclaims that he's doing this for his family, when really he just means his mother – his father is beyond saving. He's holding his wand up when all he really wants to do is let it drop. He's talking about how _brilliant _he was to figure out that bloody cabinet when all that spins, and turns, and crashes around in his skull is that this is the _stupidest _thing he's ever done.

These actions, these _habits_, he's been doing them over and over all damn year despite the fact that he's been begging himself to stop the madness. He's still moving and speaking but he has no idea who's pulling the strings this time – Lucius doesn't matter and Pride is long gone, bled out and left behind in a puddle of crimson tinted water. And there's this – this voice that's been screaming bloody murder, screaming for help, cursing him when he turns help away, for far too long now, and finally, FINALLY_, _it breaks free and forces him to lower his wand.

The relief crashes through him for three frantic heartbeats before black robes and taunting voices come swooping in. And then Snape is there, and Dumbledore is falling, and he's running and all he can think, all that penetrates the air whizzing past his head and adrenaline rushing in his ears, is that he should turn around. Turn and run towards Potters righteous anger and let it tear him limb from limb and settle him back into the dirt.

: : :

Loyalty. Supposedly, not a Slytherin quality, but the night Greyback drags Potter into his dining room Draco finds out that he has it in spades. All he knows is that he doesn't want Harry to die. He doesn't want _any _of them to die, but Harry is the one who _can't_. Draco has to die before Harry does because that's the way of life. Draco has kept on breathing so Harry can too, and doesn't confirm his identity to his raving aunt and desperate father. He never even looks at him head on, but those eyes have been trained on him often enough for Draco to know who they belong to. He was ready to die looking into them, so yes, he knows exactly who is kneeling in front of his fireplace.

He barely fights back when Harry takes his wand, and when he, Granger, and Weasley turn away into space, Draco breathes for the first time in weeks.

: : :

He watches as hundreds of pounds fall off Harry's shoulders and Voldemort collides with cracked marble. He has to remind himself that Harry still hates him and stays in his spot between his parents.

: : :

He escapes to Italy.

The Ministry has let him go free because they believe that because he was a minor when he ruined countless lives he shouldn't be held responsible.

Draco is not stupid enough to correct them.

Instead he leaves the day his Father is found dead, hung by a rope tied by his own hand in his cell, preferring this end to the Dementor's Kiss. He doesn't purchase a new wand before he leaves England and on a whim decides that a few days without one won't hurt.

Learning to live as a Muggle and calling himself Joseph is especially liberating and. without planning to, this becomes his life for the next two years.

It's when an English wizard on holiday recognizes his light hair and silver eyes, and throws a fit in the middle of the street that Draco decides that a new name and life is long overdue.

: : :

Ten years is a long time, but not long enough for Draco to lose his well honed paranoia. Someone is following him, he _knows _it. He's tempted to purchase a wand just to cast Glamours and Notice-Me-Nots, but after quick introspection decides that he deserves a curse between the shoulder blades, and hopes that he dies quickly.

He lives his 'life'; wakes up, goes to work at the charming Spanish bakery with stone ovens and melodic accents, meets up with his friends that know him as Aiden, and goes back to his tiny flat that overlooks a vineyard.

Two weeks pass before Harry decides to reveal himself to Draco by walking up to Forn Maritim's counter and ordering a loaf of bread. The sound of the world is sucked away, all of it Marie's chatter, and the honking of horns out in the street, everything, and the ground tilts, and Draco's vision whites out on the edges. Then Stefan bumps his shoulder gently and everything comes rushing back and Harry hasn't killed him straight away.

: : :

Harry doesn't kill him later on either.

He hangs about, and lets himself be seen and Draco doesn't get it, but what can _he _say? He's been _not _thinking about Harry, and throwing his sheets into the wash in the mornings purposely not thinking about why he was doing it, and trying to forget his odd fascination with him and his viridian eyes and shaggy hair for a _reason, _so sue him if he doesn't know what to say now.

: : :

"Hermione told me not to come."

Draco blinks.

"Ron doesn't even know I'm here." He turns his head to the side and squints at the vineyard. Draco runs his tongue over his teeth, and the wind makes his fine hair brush against his forehead.

"I don't even know why I'm here."

_Me neither._

Ten years is a long time but twenty eight is still young, and for some reason Draco's mind is having a hard time with this concept. Potter still looks the same for the most part, a little taller, but so is Draco, so really they are the same height. Still lean, hair still a holy mess. He doesn't wear his glasses anymore and Draco has a wild, insane thought that he will buy him a pair for Christmas. Sleek, square, black frames-

"Maybe I should go." He rubs the back of his neck with his palm, and Draco's chest tightens.

"No." Harry's eyes, _Gods they are greener than the damn vineyards_, dart back to his and keep him rooted to the ground. "I mean, what I mean to say is-" What? What _does _he mean to say?

: : :

They don't talk about the past. They don't mention the war, or their roles, or actions during that time. They talk about books, and what they have each been up to, and Draco, to Harry's surprise, gives his list of favorite movies and is comfortable enough for a second to be appalled when Harry looks away and says he's never seen The Breakfast Club. Draco jokes that they can watch the movie together at his flat sometime and nearly faints from shock when Harry looks through his fringe, fingers the rim of his coffee mug, and says 'yeah, alright' with a shrug.

: : :

A month or two into… whatever this is, they begin to meet up for breakfast or lunch, and Harry begins dropping by just as Draco is getting off of work and takes him out for dinner.

Draco fully expects Harry to drop poison into his drink for longer than is really appropriate, and when he doesn't it's a pleasant surprise.

They order in one night and watch The Breakfast Club and Harry says he enjoys it, but Draco can't be sure because he didn't watch for his expressions during the film like he usually does. He decides to just take his word for it.

: : :

"Finally, we meet him!" Stefan exclaims when Draco and Harry walk into the bar. It's small, and familiar, and one of the few places Draco feels utterly comfortable. Stefan stands from his stool to greet Harry. "You've taken our Aiden away and he comes back with stars in his eyes."

Draco's cheeks flush, and he vows to kill Stefan the moment they get a moment alone. Harry ducks his head, but Draco sees the flush to his cheeks and the quirk at the side of his mouth and suspends judgment on Stefan's punishment.

: : :

He thought (and he _has _thought about it quite a bit) that if Harry ever kissed him it would painful. He imagined teeth ripping at lips and follicles of hair ending up in palms. But now Harry is about to kiss him, and they've been staring at each other, a hair's breath away for what seems like hours but has really been a few seconds. Draco is trembling slightly against the rough brick wall, and jumps a little when Harry's hand settles on his side.

He wants to close his eyes, but really those big green eyes are becoming a problem because when they are fixed solely on him he doesn't have full control of himself.

Harry steps closer and their chests are pressed together and his eyelids are half-mast as he nudges Draco's nose with his own.

Draco's eyes finally slide shut when Harry captures his top lip between his own and his hands rise to slide into jet black hair, and when he feels Harry smile against his lips, his heart swells fit to burst and he can't help but smile too.


End file.
